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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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http://www.archive.org/details/sundryballadesOOvillrich 


X 


(> of Heaven, Regent of the earth, 
Empress of all the infernal marshes fell, 

Receive me, Th poor Christian, spite my dearth, 
In the fair midet of Chine elect to dwell: 
Atbeit my lack of grace J know full well; 

For that Thy grace, my Lady and my Queen, 

Aboundetß more than aff my mis demean, 
Withouten which no soul of aft that igh 

ay merit Heaven. Cis sooth J cay; for e'en 
In this belief J wil to live and die. 


IX 


Say to Thy Son J am Ois, that by His birth 
Ind death my cine be aff redeemable,— 

As arp of Egypt's dole He changed to mirth 
Ind eke Cheophitue’; to whom befell 
Quittance of Chee; albeit (so men tell) 

To the foul fiend he had contracted been. 

Assoilzie me, that I map have no teen, 

Maid, that without breach of virginitp 

Oidst bear our Lord that in the Host is seen. 

In this belief J will to live and die. 


FQ IF 90 
ES FB 


14722 
Ll 41 


Witton S ( Hatfade⸗ 
for gi WW other 


Oitton 2 (Haffade⸗ 
for gi Merge 


TLILXT 


A poor old wife Jam, and little worth: 
Nothing J know, nor letter ape could spell: 
where in the church to worship J fare forth, 
N sce Heaven limned, with harps and lutes and Hell, 
Where damned folks seethe in fire unquenc hable. 
One doth me fear, the other joy serene: 
Grant J may have the joy, O Virgin clean, 
To whom all s inners lift their hands on high, 
ade whole in faith through Thee their go / between. 
In this belief J will to live and die. 


CDU OR 


Thou didet conceive, Princess moet bright of sheen, 
Jesus the Cord, that Kath nor end nor mean, 
Almighty, that, departing Heaven's demesne 

To euccour us; put on our fraifty, 
Offering to death Mis sweet of youth and green: 
Such as He is, our Cord He is, J ween! 

In this belief J will to live and die. 


x 
| | Ell me where, in what land of shade, Obattade of 
Bides fair Flora of Rome, and where Oe. d Cime Ladies 

Are Thais and Archipiade, 

Cousins / german of Beauty rare, 

Ind Echo, more than mortal fair, 
That, when one calls by river / flow 

Or marish, ans wers out of the air? 
But what is become of fast year’s snow? 


xx 


Where did the learn d Heloisa vade, 
For whose cake Abelard might not spare 
(Such dole for love on him was laid) 
Manhood to lose and a cowl to wear? 
And where is the queen who willed whifere 
That Buridan, tied in a sack, should go 
Floating down Seine from the Turret / stair? 
But what is become of last year’s snow? 


XXX 


Blanche, too, the lily/ white queen, that made 
Sweet music as if che a siren were; 

Broad / foot Bertha; and Joan the maid, 
The good Lorrainer, the Englich bare 


(battade of Captive to Rouen and burned her there; 
Ded Dime Ladies Beatrix, Eremburge, Alps,. — lo! 
Where are they, Dirgin debonair? 
But what is become of last pear's cnow? 


@no0aor 


Prince, you map question how they fare 
This week, or liefer this pear, J trow: 

Still shall the answer this burden bear, 
But what is become of last pear's snow? 


x 


(Cr: is Cal ix tus, third of the name; Obattade of 
(Chat died in the purple whites ago, Oe ine Lore 
Four pears since he to the tiar came? 
And the King of Aragon, Alfonso? 
The Duke of Bourbon, sweet of show; 
And the Duke Arthur of Brittaine? 
And Charles the Seventh, the Good? Heigho! 
But where is the doughty Charlemaine? 


XX 


Likewise the King of Scots, whose shame 
Was the half of his face (or folk sap 60), 
Vermeil as amethyst held to the flame, 
From chin to forehead all of a gtow? 
The King of Cyprus, of friend and foe 
Renowned; and the gentle King of Spain, 
whose name Bod ’iefd me, J do not know? 
But where is the doughty Charfemaine? 


XXX 
Of many more might J ack the same, 
Who are but dust that the breezes blow; 


But J des ist, for none may claim 
To stand against Death, that faye aff low. 


Odattade- of Vet one more question before J go: 
Ded Time Torded Where is Lancelot, King of Behaine? 
And where are his valiant ancestors, trow? 
But where is the doughty Charlemaine? 


GC NOX 


Where is Du Buescłin, the Breton prow? 
Were Auvergne's Dauphin and where again 
The late good duke of Afencon? Lo! 
But where is the doughty CTharlemaine? 


X 


Re in the milk J know full well: 
J know men by the clothes they wear: 
I know the walnut by the shell: 
I know the foul sky from the fair: 
I know the pear / tree by the pear: 
know the worker from the drone 
Ind eke the good wheat from the tare: 


I know all save myself alone. 


XX 


J know the pourpoint by the fell 
Ind by his gown J know the frere: 
cas ter by varlet J can spell: 
uns by the veils that hide their hair: 
A know the sharper and his snare 
Ind fools that fat on cates have grown: 
Wines by the cask J can compare: 
J know all save myself alone. 


rr 
J know how horse from mule to tell: 
I know the load that each can bear: 


FJ know Goth Beatrice and Bell: 
I know the hazards, odd and pair: 


(Halfade⸗ of Dging 
Roun 6 Onknony 


(Mbattare of Cgings> J know of visions in the air: 


Nnouuñ 6 ‘Onknown 


I know the power of Peter's throne 
And how misled Bohemians were: 
J know all cave myself alone. 


enuoxr 


Prince, I know all things: fat and spare, 
Ruddy and pale, to me are known 

And Death that endeth all our care: 
I know alf save myself alone. 


x 


Eddle indulgences, as you map: 
Cog the dice for pour cheating throws: 


Try if counterfeit coin wil pay, 

At risk of coasting at last, like those 

That deal in treason. Lie and glose, 
Rob and ra vis: what profits it? 

Who gets the purchase, do pou suppose? 
Ta verns and wenc hes, every whit. 


XX 


Rhyme, rail, wrestle and cymbals plap: 
Flute and fool it in mummers shows: 
Along with the strolling plapers stray 
From town to city, without repose; 
Act mysteries, farces, imbroglios: 
Win monep at gleek or a lucky hit 
At the pins: like water, away it flows; 
Ta verns and wenches, everp whit. 


XXX 


Turn from pour evil courses J pray, 
That smell so foul in a decent nose: 
Earn pour bread in some honest way. 
If you have no letters, nor verse nor prose, 


(Hatlade to 


Chole of Ste. Life 


(Dattade te Pfough or groom horses, beat hemp or tose. 
Chole of Ste. Life Enough shall you have if pou think but fit: 
But cast not pour wage to each wind that bfowe; 
Taverne and wenches, every whit. 


UNO 


Ooublets, pourpoints and eifken hose, 
Bowne and linen, wo ven or knit, 
Ere pour wede's worn, awap it goes; 

Ta verns and wenches, every whit. 


* 


| ua folk deem women young and old OPatlade of he 
Of venice and Benoa well eno’ 29 omen of paris? 

Favoured with speech, both glib and bold, 

To carry messages to and fro; 

Sa vopards, Florentines less or mo, 
Romans and Lombards though folk reno wn, 

J, at my peril, J cap no; 
There's no right speech out of Paris town. 


XX 


The Naples women (so we are told) 
Can school aff comers in speech and show; 
Pruss ians and Germans were stiff ex tolled 
For pleasant prattle of friend and foe; 
But hail they from Athens or Grand Cairo, 
Castille or Hungary, black or brown, 
Greeks or Egyptians, high or low. 
There's no right speech out of Paris town. 


XXX 


Switzers nor Bretons know how to scold, 
Mor Provence nor Hascony women: fo! 

Two fis hfags in Paris the bridge that hold 
Would slang them dumb in a minute or 60. 


Odaftade of the Wicardy, England, Lorraine, (heigho! 
Women of Pari Enough of places have J eet down?) 
Valenciennes, Calais, wherever pou go; 
There's no right speech out of Paris town. 


nuox 


Prince, to the Paris ladies, I trow, 
For pleasant parlance J pield the crown. 
They map talk of Italians; but this J know, 
There's no right speech out of Paris town. 


x 


En talk of those the fiefde that till; (Saftade of 
Of those that sift out chaff from corn; {oor Sginneſ ſucef S 
Of him that has, will he or nill, 
A wife that scoldeth night and morn,— 
As folk hard driven and forforn: 
Of men that often use the sea; 
Of monks that of poor con vents be; 
Of those behind the ass that go; 
But, when all things consider we, 
Poor chimnepsweepe have toif eno’. 


XX 


To govern hops and girls with skill, 
God wot; s no labour lightlp borne: 

Mor to serve ladies at Love's will; 
Or do knight suit at sound of horn, 
Helmet and harness al ways worn, 

Ind follow arms courageously: 

To joust and tilt with spears, perdie, 
And quintain play, is hard, J know ; 

But, when aff things consider we, 
Poor chimneps weeps have toil eno’. 


(Sattade of 
Poor © Gimney(usceps> 


xxx 


God wot; they suffer little ill 
By whom wheat’s reaped and meadowos ehorn; 
Or those that threeh grain for the mill 
Or plead the Parliament beforne; 
To borrow monep's little scorn; 
Tinkers and carters have to dree 
But little hardship, seemeth me; 
Mor does Lent ick us much, J trow; 
But, when all things consider we, 
Poor chimneps weeps have toil eno’. 


(anuox deest) 


x= 


G Oates scratch until they spoil their bed; (Sbattade of 
Witcher to well too oft we send; Properss> 
The ironꝰs heated til it’s red 
And hammered till in twain it rend: 
The tree grows as the twig we bend: 
en journey till they dis appear 
Even from the memoty of a friend: 
We shout out Moel tiff it's here. 


XX 


Some mock until their hearts do bleed: 
Some are so frank that they offend: 
Some waste until they come to need: 
A promised gift is if to spend: 
Some love Bod tiff from church they trend: 
Wind shifts until to North it veer: 
(Ti forced to Borrow do we lend: 
We shout out Mock tiff it's here. 


XXX 


Doge fawn on us tiff them we feed: 
Song's sung until by heart it’s kenned: 
Fruit's kept until it rot to seed: 
The leagured place falls in the end; 


(Sattar of 
Prowerss> 


Folk linger till the occasion wend: 
Haste oft throws all things out of gear: 

One clips until the grasp's o erstrained: 
We shout out Moel till it's here. 


anuoxr 


Prince, fools live so long that they mend: 
They go so far that they draw near: 
They're cozened till they apprehend: 
We shout out Moe till it's here. 


Two hundred and ten copies of Sundry Ballades 
of Francois Hillon printed by Edwin and Robert 
Grabhorn and James Me Oonald at San Fran; 
cisco in Oecember 1922 from John Wayne's trans⸗ 
lation out of the Old French. Cover, title page and 
initials by Joseph Sinel. 


12 


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